Now, I love both these guys, met them back in my college dormitory way back in the stone ages. But due to adult issues (soul-deadening work, marriage, kids, divorce, trauma, stuff), I hadn't seen them in about half of my lifetime.
I wondered if things would be awkward or if we could pick up right where we had left off thirty years ago.
The answer is "YES, you CAN go home again." Honestly, it was like things hadn't changed since college.
Well, with some exceptions...
First of all, we three still enjoy our most favorite thing about college: BEER. Yayyyy! And it flowed pretty much non-stop at the cabin that weekend. The great equalizer.
When Tom and I finally arrived at the cabin from Kansas City (we were talking in Tom's truck and ended up missing our appropriate exit, thus delaying our arrival by an hour-and-a-half), it was clear that Darren had begun without us. So we had some quick catching up to do, so sooooo much beer drinking, we forgot to eat dinner.
Okay, there were a lot more pounds and a lot less hair, to be expected. And then we lapsed into what all 63 year old men talk about: health issues. While Tom and Darren broke out their cigars, drinks in hand, we went around sharing our medical trauma and history. And we all agreed that once you hit 60, it's all downhill from there. (Okay, Darren said it was 62 for him, but it's still in the range).
Scars were shown, heart monitors displayed, massagers brought out for bone-on-bone arthritic knees, wounds marveled at, operations deliberated on, hemorrhoid stories shared with gusto, and just an overall wonderment permeated we three kings of Oklahoma as to just how we got in such shape and why our bodies had started to betray us so quickly. (Surely it had nothing to do with our mutual admiration for beer.)
It seemed like just yesterday, we were living wildly at Naismith Hall in Lawrence, Kansas (home of the Jayhawks!), and having the time of our lives, the whole world in front of us and we on top of it.
Age happens.
Now, Tom and I were firmly in the same camp as we talked through a lot of our fears and anger and worries about what passes for politics these days as we drove to Oklahoma. But I knew Darren was defiantly and proudly in the other camp.
By and large, we kept politics out of the round-room convo Friday night, but it crept into our lakeside chats by Saturday morning. Amazingly, things were kept civil, but of course no minds were changed. As I knew they wouldn't be. When Darren wanted to start whipping out his phone to show "proof" of his arguments, I tried to steer the pow-wow away and back to decrepit, blue-haired advertising professors who barked (long story).
In college, I was far from political. Didn't really care about politics, to be frank. I had more important things to think about: beer, girls, friends, and grades. And Darren called me out on that. He was right. I really didn't start getting political until the Obama era. When my wife said to read the news once in a while. (And we all know how that ended up.)
So some things had changed: Politics. Weight. Health issues. Age. Life. But in many other ways, it was like we'd never broken up the band and for one fun weekend, we were living like college-aged rock stars with great camaraderie once again.
And I can't wait to do it again. If I can get my walker up the stairs and get a new supply of rubber underwear for those incontinent nights, that is, you damn young whippersnappers!
While on the topic of people who refuse to grow up, pity poor Zora, a beleaguered, often pregnant sleuth who has her hands full with numerous children and a man-boy husband. But when her vacuous, dunder-headed, immature, yet good-hearted male stripper brother keeps finding himself suspected of murder, Zora has no choice but to find the real killers and keep her nitwit brother out of jail. Read the zany, comedic mystery romps that comprise the Zach and Zora series available here.
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